


where dwells the breath of all persisting stars

by absopositivelutely



Series: soul searching [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Marauders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absopositivelutely/pseuds/absopositivelutely
Summary: they fall apart without him.(or; the death of james potter.)





	where dwells the breath of all persisting stars

**Author's Note:**

> major thanks to [visheretowrite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/visheretowrite/pseuds/visheretowrite) for beta-ing this and giving me the whole idea behind this after i gave her one sentence that i had written. check her out, her writing is beautiful and she deserves lots and lots of kudos.
> 
> (also, title is from the same poem quoted below.)

  

if i believe in death be sure of this

it is because you have loved me 

— _if i believe,_ e e cummings

 

 

* * *

   **i.**

* * *

 

she chokes back a sob and her shaking hand twists the lock shut. _mama?_ harry chirps, and she clutches the boy closer to her chest. there is no time to grieve. she holds all she has left of james in her arms, and she will do anything to protect their son.  
  
she would sacrifice her life for him, she knows that. but lily evans is afraid of death, has been since the war started. she stands by harry’s crib and looks at her son, gripping at the bars and looking up at her with a smile that is so like james she cannot hold back the tears.  
  
they were supposed to have _enough kids for a potter quidditch team, yeah? we can move into a bigger house when all this war business is over. pads and moony and wormtail can have their own rooms when they visit. it’ll be great, lils._  
  
the door is thrown open and her dream is shattered and _oh god, harry, please not harry, not my son not harry not him anyonebuthimplease—_

(for a split second, she wishes that it had been neville. that it had been alice and frank. that they would die to save the wizarding world and her family would have nothing to do with it.)  
  
she is sorry, she is so, so sorry that she is leaving him alone in this world. but if he is anything like james—she knew he was—he would be strong. he could not die now. he couldn’t. not her son.

and it is sickening, but she is human and selfish and she is almost relieved when she falls, because she does not know how she would live without james.

 

* * *

  **ii.**

* * *

 

he knew, of course he knew, but it’s one thing to know and another thing to _know_. besides, it was james. james was always there. james was the one who had found sirius on the train, trying his best to hide the fear in his eyes. james was the one who’d shrugged and said _so what?_ and handed sirius his extra red robes and picked up his wand and set the green robes sirius had brought with him on fire, because _your parents were wrong about you and that’s okay, anyway, gryffindor’s better, isn’t it?_ james was the one who’d dragged out blankets and pillows and arranged them on the floor and offered sirius his bed when sirius had run away from home and come to james’ place, because where else would he have gone? not that it mattered, anyway, because the next morning when euphemia potter poked her head into the room to wake them up, she found the boys both asleep on james’s bed, sirius buried under a pile of blankets and pillows at the foot of the bed and curled up in a manner that reminded her of a dog.  
  
james was the one who’d grabbed sirius’s hand and whispered _it’ll be okay, sirius, he won’t find us. he won’t get to harry. we’ll be okay._  
  
and sirius had believed him. james, with a fierce determination in those hazel eyes; james, who’d always been right; james, who was sirius’s best friend.  
  
they had always done everything together, and it had never occurred to sirius that perhaps death could separate them.  
  
james he would always believe. he would not believe the whispers of people as they approached the potters’ house. not until he saw james. james would tell him the truth.  
  
he refused to look at the body. _find harry,_ james’s voice echoed in his ears. his godson, the boy they all swore they would sacrifice their lives for. but sirius had never imagined their promise coming to fulfillment.  
  
harry is crying _. shh, harry, it’s alright. i’m here._ he does not look at the body near the door. he will come back later, when harry is safe. then he will release his curses, his anger, because _who was he to take away his best friend?_ it is unfinished business, and sirius never leaves behind anything incomplete.  
  
for now, though, he lifts harry out of the crib. the boy quiets instantly, safe in the familiar arms of his godfather. it is only now that sirius lowers his gaze to the figure slumped against the crib, blazing red hair not quite as bright as it once was. harry’s hands reach out for his mother, grasping at the air. her eyes are still open.  
  
_evans_. it hits him like a punch to the gut. _lily._ she was gone. _oh, prongs. i’m so sorry._  
  
he closes her eyes, lets harry grab a fistful of her hair like he loved to do. lily hated when he did that, sirius remembers. _stop it, harry!_ she’d shriek, james’s laughter from the corner only fueling harry’s determination to tug at her hair. sirius remembers the warmth he had felt in that moment. james had the softest look in his eyes when he looked at his family. and at the same time, sirius had felt incredibly alone. they were their own little world.  
  
_it’s time to go,_ sirius whispers, and he leaves the room, stepping over the body that lay in front of the door. he finally lets his gaze drift to the floor as he descends the final steps of the staircase.  
  
even in death, james managed to keep his hair messy and his glasses askew. it is unmistakably his james, his prongs, his best friend, his brother.  
  
(and maybe sirius was in love with him, too.)  
  
he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels hagrid rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. _sirius, lemme take ‘arry, yeah?_ there are hot tears dripping down his face and landing in harry’s hair. sirius wipes them away and looks up at hagrid. _he’s my godson. i’m keeping him._  
  
_no yer not,_ hagrid answers. _dumbledore’s havin’im live with lily’s sister._ sirius glares at hagrid, who shrugs and at least manages to look apologetic. _i have a feelin’ you’ve got things to do, anyway,_ hagrid says, and the look in his eyes tells sirius he knows exactly what he’s planning. _you’re right. keep harry safe._  
  
_be careful,_ is all hagrid says, and sirius nods. it is a formality. they both know that sirius is anything but. james used to be able to calm him down. he was the only one.  
  
_good luck,_ sirius breathes into harry’s ear. the boy meets his eyes, his expression somber. then he gurgles and swats at sirius’s face and sirius lets out a choked sob and cracks a smile at the same time. _you’ll make them proud._  
  
it isn’t until he hears the roar of hagrid’s motorcycle fade into a purr that he presses his face to james’s chest. he remembers the weeks after he’d left home—he’d wake up in the middle of the night still hearing his mother screaming at him, tears coursing down his cheeks as they did now. they’d given up on james sleeping on the floor after the first night, and after the second night, they’d given up on sirius sleeping at the end of the bed. sirius liked being a dog when he was stressed, mostly because it stopped him from thinking too much. james had always wanted a pet. so it had been completely natural, when sirius had instinctively transformed into a dog after waking up from his dream, for james to take the dog in his arms, stroke his fur, and hold him to his chest. sirius shifts into his animagus form now, nuzzling under james’s arm, looking for any trace of his prongs’s warmth and comfort.  
  
he was already cold.  
  
he cannot help but feel like it was his fault. after all, it was him who suggested peter as secret keeper. but it was wormtail, their brother. he had loved james, too. and lily and harry. _how?_  
  
he would pay. sirius swears it on his life. he will see peter pettigrew dead.  
  
but of course, the world is not fair. james had always told him that. he remembers that james had been hesitant to make peter secret keeper, too. always right, james was, even in death.  
  
they find him in front of the ruins of the potters’ house. _he was right,_ he laughs. _peter’s gone. james, why didn’t i listen?_  
  
_azkaban,_ they answer. _he’s guilty._  
  
_they won’t listen to me, james._  
  
he cannot stop laughing.

 

* * *

**iii.**

* * *

 

they never liked him, not really.

they would not have chosen him. he was only part of the marauders by chance. he was lonely and fat and stupid and nobody would want him.

they had taken him in, though. he became a marauder because the marauders were not perfect. james was too arrogant, sirius too reckless, remus too self-pitying. he loved them and they loved him and he had found friends, found brothers, and everything was perfect.

he was loved and it was fine.

but being loved does not mean that you are not jealous. yeah, he had his special thing with james. they would share peter’s stash of candy in the common room when it was a particularly bad moon and remus needed space and sirius was the only one allowed in the dorm room because he was the only one who somehow always knew what remus needed. james and peter would toss a stolen snitch back and forth and james would talk about lily and encourage peter to ask a girl out because _come on, wormtail, there’s only one stag around here._

but james had a special thing with everyone. he’d sneak out late at night with sirius and peter would peer out the window to see them walking the perimeter of the lake. he’d sit with remus in the library and spend hours looking through books about remus’s latest interests—a time-consuming task, considering they changed every week. and peter knew that he’d never be popular, but these were the marauders, who he knew would appreciate anything he did for them, but it was never enough. he wished that just for once, he’d be the best.

he’d managed to fail them, in the end.

 _the funeral,_ he hears people whisper. _the potters, surely you’ve heard. it’s tomorrow. they will be remembered._

they will remember a james potter who had done something so selfless, so loving, so heroic. but peter remembers a different james potter—one who had quietly confided in peter that if he died, he wanted to go out fighting. he wanted a legacy. and peter had reassured him that he was james fleamont potter, no matter how he died he would leave a legacy. not like peter. peter would go forgotten.

and then james had shrugged and smiled and told him that _hey, you’re secret keeper, aren’t you? you_ are _important, wormtail, can’t you see? always have been._

he does not know why those same words from a different pair of pale lips sounded so much more convincing.

they are convincing enough for him to cry out when his eyes meet sirius’s, dark and narrowed and filled with a feral anger that strikes peter with fear somewhere deep in his soul. _sirius black,_ he screams, desperately, and there is a cold hatred in the sharp angles of sirius’s sneer. _he is guilty, he betrayed the potters!_

they had promised, when they entered hogwarts, never to hurt a muggle, as all witches and wizards must swear on their lives. he knows he has certainly broken that, but he is past that point. he passed that point when he found himself opposite one of his best friends reaching for his wand, he passed that point when he had promised james to keep them safe, he passed that point the first time he had met with _him_ . he closes his eyes and pours his desperation into a spell, and the world explodes around him. because he still cannot bear to die, is too afraid to face his guilt. for now, the finger he leaves behind is sacrifice enough for him, pitifully inadequate but all he is willing to risk. james’s questions from years ago echo in his mind: _why’s peter a rat? rats are cowards, aren’t they?_

 _i’m not scared,_ peter had replied. _i’m in gryffindor, aren’t i?_

james had been right, after all.

at least james will be remembered. and maybe, if they never learned the truth, so will peter. james had always wanted a legacy, and maybe peter would become part of it too. at least this will all have been worth it.

(he wants to believe that it isn’t worth it. but hearing the words _peter pettigrew, a hero_ is intoxicating.)

 _poor peter_ , they whisper. _so brave._

how wrong they are.

 

* * *

  **iv.**

* * *

 

remus hated being alone.  
  
he remembers crying himself to sleep the first week at hogwarts. of course it wasn’t any different here. why did he think people would want to talk to him in hogwarts? they could all sense it, he was sure. the curse radiated from him. _werewolf, werewolf, werewolf. danger._  
  
there was peter, at least. remus wasn’t sure how much that counted, though. it didn’t seem like anyone wanted to talk to peter either.  
  
and then somehow, after weeks of finding their classes and sitting together in the great hall and being wide awake at three in the morning and making fun of teachers and avoiding the slytherins—or, in james’s and sirius’s case, antagonizing them—after all this, they’d become a sort of family. and they all somehow knew that james was their leader. because he was james and james was a presence. he is a hurricane, a wildfire, a blizzard; he is everything that demands attention. but hurricanes, wildfires, and blizzards leave destruction in their wake. remus thinks that perhaps james has done the same.  
  
it isn’t like james means it. storms never do. but tornadoes are born spontaneously, and james lived in split seconds. remus does not blame him. they had all agreed to protect harry. but james—none of them, really—had thought of what would happen in the aftermath. when they stood among the ruins, one of them lost, the rest of them destroyed.  
  
because in that split second, that flash of green light, remus was suddenly alone. james dead, peter dead, sirius guilty. probably going mad and dying in azkaban. remus didn’t quite know whether to believe it—it was sirius, after all. but everything screamed _traitor, traitor, traitor. danger._  
  
they had made a bet, in another time, another world. all four of them intoxicated with that invincible power given to you by the midnight air. quick bursts of laughter followed by hisses of quiet! the marauders’ map clutched in peter’s hands, james hanging halfway out the window, remus attempting to hold the invisibility cloak to conceal them— _it’s because i’m the tallest, isn’t it_ —and sirius levitating midair, wand in hand. minutes later, they’d found themselves perched atop the spire of the astronomy tower. the tallest point of hogwarts. mischief managed.  
  
_which of us do you think will die first?_ peter’s voice was small. they stood on the narrow walkway encircling the spire, leaning over the railing _. that’s dark, wormtail. but it’ll be me._ remus spoke softly, but even he could hear the conviction in his voice sentencing him to death.  
  
_no you won’t,_ sirius tried to argue. _don’t lie to him, pads. the world hates werewolves. it’s not fair. but i’d give you anything, you know that, right moony?_ james had said.  
  
maybe remus should’ve known that james would die first. he’d never let anyone he loved get hurt. not without a fight. remus had always thought he himself would be the first to fall. death had been after him for years. he was bound to get tired of running.  
  
but james had never needed to run. death caught up easily.  
  
perhaps they’re wrong, and remus will get there and everything will be okay. he can feel it, though. james is gone. peter is gone. sirius is gone. he remembers a promise, made by four hopeful boys in excited whispers on top of the world. _we’ll always stay together, right?_  
  
remus stands in the ruins of the potter home. _you promised, james._ the bodies are still there.  
  
like sirius, though he doesn’t know it, he goes upstairs first. it is immediately colder, the october air creeping in past the splintered edges of the hole in the wall. but the nursery was warmth and safety and comfort and home—he remembers sitting on the floor with evans and prongs and padfoot and wormtail and they’d all talk and play with harry, crawling around and giggling at the faces sirius and james would pull and reaching out for the chocolate remus and peter would always have. and lily would roll her eyes at them and chide them for spoiling the boy but she could never be mad at them, it was her boy, her harry, and harry deserved the world and they were all willing to give it to him. the marauders, who loved with a fierceness and would give themselves over in an instant for their family.  
  
he writes all of this and more into his eulogy. remus had always hated speeches, hated attention, but he had to do this, because it was for james. but no matter how many times he stares at the parchment and scratches out line after line, it still does not feel right. he knows it will pull tears from the eyes of the coldest people. remus will tell an epic tale, one of a boy and a girl in love who sacrificed themselves so their son—so the world—could live. theirs was a story that would see the end of time.  
  
but there is another story impossibly tangled with theirs, though hidden beneath stains of tears and heavy-handed lines of dark ink. three other boys, who would follow the fourth to the ends of the earth. theirs was a story that would go forgotten, only remembered for their deaths and their crimes and their curses. remus wanted the world to know they had been so much more. but he had never been talented with words. that was james, who could talk his way out of anything. that was sirius, who could charm anyone to do anything. that was peter, who could lie about anything.  
  
he cannot tell their story. he wants them, needs them, to tell it with him. they were supposed to. they were meant to tell harry their story, between reminiscing laughter and reassurances that he’d find friends at hogwarts and sheepish grins at lily. none of them would get that now. their story will go untold.  
  
(and maybe, in the darkest corners of remus’s mind, that is what he wants. because the marauders were his, and maybe he thinks that the world does not deserve them.)  
  
so they are written out of the eulogy, and james’s story is one of romance and tragedy. the people will love it, he knows. they will praise him and cry and hug him and perhaps they would even think they missed james. but they do not know who else was lost with james. they do not know that remus was supposed to be surrounded by three other boys. they do not know that once, a lifetime ago, a boy with glasses and messy black hair had promised a boy with scars hidden beneath too-big sweaters that _you’ll never be alone, okay? we’ll always be here._  
  
remus goes to the funeral alone.

 

* * *

  **v.**

* * *

 

it is selfish, but he sacrifices himself so he will have the reassurance that he will be remembered. that he will die a martyr of the war, that he will leave behind a legacy, that his fear of being forgotten will not be realized. but james potter wants to live, too. he is terrified of death.

(it is over in an instant.)

after all, galaxies are born from the death of a star. perhaps he was a supernova, and he lives on in the worlds he left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments always appreciated :)


End file.
